


pour yourself a drink, I'll sing you a song

by janie_tangerine



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hugs, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kissing, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i was on the kinkmeme again things happened, this is ridiculous but I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: or: in which Geralt gets royally smashed on moonshine and Jaskier is very much smitten.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 40
Kudos: 717





	pour yourself a drink, I'll sing you a song

**Author's Note:**

> So I happened to be on the kinkmeme for inspiration again and someone asked for _I love the stories where Jaskier is drunk off his ass, or has temporary amnesia, or is high, etc. and sees this beautiful hunk of man and starts flirting with him, only to be devastated when he finds out Geralt has a boyfriend... because he's too out of it to know that *he's* that boyfriend. I'm intrigued to know what would happen... if the roles were reversed. Geralt is drunk/under the influence of some sort of poison or drug/injured and it makes him talkative. And lovely. And suddenly he's flirting with his bard very badly. Jaskier thinks it's endearing, especially when he asks if Jaskier has a boyfriend, like he doesn't actually remember. Except... oh shit, is he crying?? Does he actually legitimately not know/remember?? Cue awkwardness and cuddles._ My OH MY GOD THIS IS SO CUTE IT HAS TO EXIST instinct took over and yeah, it's 100% what it says on the tin. Have some fluff I guess?
> 
> Also: in order to decide what they were having to drink I ended up in a rabbit hole of 'can I find a real world Polish type of booze for this' and I decided that [duch puszczy](https://culture.pl/en/article/8-must-try-regional-alcoholic-drinks-from-poland) looked like a good option, so that's what they're supposed to be drinking. Any wrong description about how it tastes can be blamed on the only other non-Polish article I found that actually described it but hopefully they weren't lying /o\ other than that, the title is from the Horrible Crowes and nothing else belongs to me except the ridiculousness ;)

Geralt has prattled for years about the impossibility of witchers getting _drunk_ off regular alcohol.

Jaskier reasons that until _now_ no one has proved him wrong, or any other witcher wrong, and honestly, after Geralt told him once that the only thing that gets _them_ drunk is something that at the end of the day is basically along the lines if fucking _paint thinner_ , he had figured that no regular alcohol could do the job. Which — well. Makes sense. If they _could_ get drunk that easily it might turn out to be a professional problem.

Except that apparently there _is_ an exception.

As in: after Geralt dispatched a wraith for this small community of farmers in this small village lost in the middle of fucking nowhere near Redania, _knowing_ they had no coin to pay him, it turned out that the farmers in question were better people than most and insisted to gift them with a few bottles of their locally produced liquor for payment. Turns out, it actually was worth a _lot_ to them because this one moonshine is produced without the local lords knowing of it, they can only make so much per year because they don’t want anyone to know outside the immediate vicinities and it’s a treasured local recipe that they don’t want known outside the village and the nearest ones from which they have most of their clients to purchase it.

Geralt had taken it, muttering that alcohol was good payment as far as he was concerned, and Jaskier had looked forward to enjoying some _good_ liquor, especially considering that more inns than he’d like serve Geralt crappy ale the moment they figure out who he is even _now_ , and so they had made camp in the woods as usual and started sharing the first bottle. It had certainly looked _good_ , with its golden color that reminded Jaskier of Geralt's eyes, and then it turned out that it tasted very good, as well - a bit like whiskey but sweeter, _warmer_ , most likely flavored with a bit of honey, and he felt like he could actually drink more of it at once rather than having to wait in between shots.

Now, if it had been _regular_ alcohol, Geralt would have drunk three quarters of it without being affected and Jaskier would have gotten a nicer buzz from the other quarter and it would have ended with the two of them tumbling in the same bedroll and have that slow, _nice_ tumble that always happens when you have enough alcohol in your system to warm you up and make you feel the right kind of fuzzy but not enough to be _drunk_.

Except that it looks like this moonshine really is one of a kind, as the farmers said, because the moment Geralt took one shot his cheeks had flushed at once, which… was not normal, but fair enough, maybe it was just that strong.

Then they took a shot each, and now that they’re midway through the second, Jaskier is _nowhere_ near drunk — it’s _good_ alcohol, it _did_ get him warm and buzzed, but he actually has gotten drunk faster on regular vodka, while Geralt…

Geralt has downed way less than his usual intake and he’s _completely fucking drunk off his ass_ — he had started _laughing_ halfway through bottle number one and now he’s positively _slurring his words_ when he tries to talk, and thing is, he started by talking to Roach but way louder than usual, and Jaskier is _never_ going to bring up to him when he’s sober that he called her _my precious_ out loud, but then he had fallen back to the ground on unsteady legs, grabbed the bottle again, taken another _long_ sip (then again, the flavor was really fucking good, nothing to say about _that_ ) and turned to look at _him_ , and —

First he had sort of plastered himself very awkwardly over his side, sort of hovering until Jaskier put a hand on his shoulder and steadied him, pushing him against his side, and Geralt had _grinned_ and moved closer and —

“Did I ever t’ll you your eyes are _pretty_?” He had blurted, and Jaskier had managed to not gasp in surprise just out of self-control and not being as drunk as he could have been.

“Uh,” he replies when it becomes obvious that Geralt is expecting an answer, “are they?”

“Hm,” Geralt nods, _very_ intently, “so much. Like the sky wh’n it’s clear. But nicer.”

“Aw,” Jaskier can’t help smiling as he squeezes Geralt’s shoulder, “thank you, though I think yours are prettier.”

Geralt scoffs, shaking his head like it’s an extremely important question to settle. “No,” he says, looking back up at him, “ _yours_ are nicer. So _blue_. Always was my favorite color.”

Jaskier is _not_ going to survive the next two hours if it goes on like this because this is too fucking _adorable_ for his poor heart to take, and then he considers stopping Geralt from taking another shot but Geralt takes the bottle from his grasp before he can do it and drinks some more, and _now_ his cheeks are flushing a lovely shade of pink and maybe — maybe he should just let him, what’s so bad about the man finally letting go and having some fun, considering how he never lets himself do it? Geralt hands him back the bottle and Jaskier takes another swig as Geralt keeps on staring at him _so very seriously_ , though he’s still sort of maybe smiling.

“You never told me,” he says, trying to not sound reproachful.

Geralt shrugs, way more openly than usual. “Didn’t seem important,” he slurs, then reaches out for the bottle but instead of drinking from it he puts it on the side and grasps at Jaskier’s fingers instead. “Nice hands, too.”

“Oh, now —”

Geralt keeps on moving his fingers along Jaskier’s palm, then over the callouses he inevitably has because that’s what happens when you’ve played music for more than half of your life, sighing. “So warm,” he goes on, still grasping his fingers, and he sighs when Jaskier actually threads them with his, tugging him forward, and then he’s at his side again, though not as pressed up against it as before, still staring at him, and gods but those golden eyes of his really look so lovely in the firelight, and then Geralt squeezes his hand and shit, Jaskier really wants to kiss him, maybe he should —

And then Geralt’s stare turns uttermost serious. “You _should_ be w’th someone,” he slurs again, but making it very clear that _he means it_. “No way someone like _you_ isn’t. _Are_ you?”

Jaskier laughs, assuming that Geralt is trying to pull his leg — they’ve been together for _months_ by now, obviously it’s the case, but it’s so fucking endearing, he _will_ go along with it.

“Sure I am,” Jaskier says, “I’m with the person I love most in the world. Couldn’t call myself luckier.”

He expects Geralt to — blush or tell him something like _you can’t mean it_ as he usually does when Jaskier tries to have that conversation with him in blunt terms…

Except that then Geralt freezes, letting his hand go. “Oh,” he says, looking down at his own hands, shrugging minutely, and suddenly he looks smaller than he has any right to be, his lower lip trembling, and wait, _what the fuck_ , Jaskier thinks before he opens his mouth — “That’s good,” he slurs again, “guess she’s a lucky woman, then,” except that Jaskier barely understands the last three words because he started _crying_ , and not just a little but full-on tears running down his face and he’s not even wiping them off, as if it’s some kind of mortal blow he just received —

Wait.

Oh, _shit_ , is Geralt so fucking out of it that he forgot that —

Jaskier doesn’t know if he should cry, too, because _fuck_ but of course the idiot _would_ still think deep down that Jaskier could do better and that _he_ couldn’t be the person anyone loves most in the world, except that if _he_ cries, too, he’s just going to trash a perfectly good evening and maybe he should _act_ instead, and gods but seeing Geralt fucking _cry_ is making him feel like shit and there’s no reason he should allow it to go on any longer, so he shakes his head, moves forward, grasps Geralt’s hands and pulls so that he _has_ to look at him.

“I don’t know,” he says, “if _she_ is lucky, because the person I love most in the world is not _some woman_ , it’s you.”

Geralt’s eyes go wider at that as he thankfully stops biting down on his lip.

“Me?” He replies, staring at Jaskier like he’s nowhere near sure of it.

“‘Course it’s you,” he says, pulling him forward as he lies back against the nearest tree — Geralt about falls into him as Jaskier puts an arm around his waist and a hand on the side of his face, wiping away tears from his cheek while he’s at it. “It’s been you for _years_ and last I checked we’ve been together for, uh, the last six months, and I’m not interested in being with anyone else because why would I when I only ever wanted _you_ since I noticed you brooding in that corner in Posada? And _I_ couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“Oh,” Geralt says, suddenly without words, still looking at him like he’s seeing some kind of vision, and Jaskier is just — he can’t keep on _staring back_.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” he says, and then, “come down here, how about _that_?” He slowly moves Geralt’s head to his shoulder so he can actually give him a damned proper hug, his hand carding through that soft, silky hair that looks almost silvery right now, and when Geralt sniffs first and then ends up crying himself out against his shoulder he keeps on doing that except that then he kisses the top and the side of his head while he does, letting him work through it, and when Geralt moves back his eyes are red-rimmed but at least they’re dry and he still looks _completely fucking drunk_ and he’s still staring at Jaskier like he hung the damned moon and Jaskier is never going to let him drink that much of this particular alcohol at once ever again, but he _will_ make the most of the fact that at least Geralt _is_ apparently willing to have a conversation concerning his _feelings_ at this point. As drunk as he is.

“You,” he says, “ _really_ need to get into that thick head of yours that there’s no one on in the Continent I want as much as I want _you_ and like hell I’m going to look at anyone else now that _we_ are together, but I guess I have time to make sure of it yet.” He leans down and presses his mouth against Geralt’s, firmly, and he wanted it to be brief because he still had something to add, but then Geralt _moans_ into his mouth and kisses him back like he’s fucking starved for it, about melting into him as he does, and Jaskier certainly cannot refuse him such a request, and so it’s a long time before they actually stop kissing, and when they move apart Geralt’s cheeks are flushing that healthy pink again and his eyes are a bit less red rimmed and he’s smiling just a tiny bit but it’s so _sweet_ Jaskier wants to write twenty songs about it.

“Also,” he grins, figuring that it’s time he repays Geralt with his own coin, “sorry but _you_ have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen and I’ll stand by it.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Th’y’re not _pretty_ ,” he scoffs, then opens his mouth again.

Jaskier is halfway sure he’ll say something like, they’re _monstrous_ or ugly or strange.

“Fine, I’ll agree with you. They’re not merely pretty, they’re fucking breathtaking and they look like molten gold and no one with a shred of taste would think them _ugly_ , so let’s just agree that we like each others’s eyes best and accept the verdict, how about it?”

“’S fair,” Geralt nods, and then blinks up at him, his hands clutching at Jaskier’s back, and — “Kiss me again?”

“However much you like,” Jaskier smiles, and then does it again, and _again_ , and —

All right.

He’s definitely keeping that moonshine under lock and key, but _maybe_ once in a while they could have a little of it, unless Geralt decides he doesn’t want to ever go near it again… but he’s kind of sure it won’t be the case.

— —

The next morning, it turns out that it’s some fucking _good_ moonshine because neither of them is hungover. Geralt is also embarrassed as hell, but he forgets about it after Jaskier kisses him stupid into his bedroll and gives him a nice, slow morning hand job under the covers.

Then —

“You keep it,” Geralt says, shoving the remaining two bottles at him. “I… don’t think I can be trusted around it. But —”

“But?”

Geralt doesn’t quite look at him when he speaks next. “I don’t — I mean. It was _too much_. But. I just — it was nice. In the beginning.”

Jaskier can hear that he meant, _it was nice to loosen up but I can’t do it easily and it would be nice to do it again_ , and on one side it’s just damn _sad_ and he swears to himself that he’ll live to see the day he does it without needing alcohol to do it —

But he’s _not_ going to get ahead of himself now.

“Got it,” he says, putting the bottles into his pack, “I’ll take excellent care of them and we can have _one_ drink once in a while. Or well, maybe _I_ can have more than one. It was nice to _not_ be the lightheaded one out of the two of us for once.”

“At least it tasted nice,” Geralt says under his breath, but fair enough — he supposes that whatever it is that gets witchers drunk has to taste foul.

“Cheer up, if we run out we can always come back here and pay for more. And stop looking like _that_ , it was nice.”

“ _Nice_ ,” he shakes his head. “Only you would —”

“Yes, yes, _only me_ , imagine how dreadful that we told each other nice things, we can do it again at the next round, how about it?”

For a moment, Geralt says nothing, but then he _does_ smile again, enough that it shows a sliver of teeth.

“Maybe we could,” he agrees.

Jaskier grins to himself as Geralt mounts on Roach and they head out of the clearing. He can’t wait for the next time they’ll do it again, and maybe he can get Geralt a new nice _blue_ shirt at the next market they find — he thinks _will_ milk what happened for all it’s worth.

Including reminding Geralt as much as possible that he _is_ , indeed, the only person he wants to be with.

End.


End file.
